Deducing the Heart of a Time Traveller
by TheConsultingTimeLords
Summary: When sitting in Speedy's diner at an ungodly hour in the morning, Sherlock finally encounters someone not-John who's interesting. The heavy weight of loss in this stranger's eyes reveal Mickey Smith to have more to hide than the typical transparent human.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hi all! This is BandNerd21 here, giving you a friendly author's note to start you on your journey in our first combined fic! (BlinkingAngel might also add an A/N if she hijacks my laptop...) So this fic took a lot of revisions, and BlinkingAngel started the backbone of this chapter, then I added stuff, then she added stuff, and we wound up making some awesome _stuff!_

BlinkingAngel here! Just adding my two cents: enjoy our stuff and more stuff and awesome stuff!

Also, a teensy weensy disclaimer: We. Do. Not. Own. Either of these shows. They both belong to the great god of television and mindf***ing Steven Moffat

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><p>Sherlock rolled his eyes. John had insisted that he "get out and about on his own like a grown man for once," and just about kicked him out of the flat. He was currently stuck sitting in Speedy's, which was as far "out and about" as he was willing to get. He stared out the window to the street, the dim morning light turning everything multiple shades of grey, observing anyone and everyone who walked past out of sheer boredom. That man was late for a meeting-he had met up with his lover the night before... Oh! Here she comes now, running in the opposite direction of him. Any idiot could tell that they had just seen each other. What an incredibly dull, mundane secret. Another woman quickly shuffled along the street; she was on an emergency cigarette run. A runner jogging along to his music, obviously training for a marathon. She's hoping to be early for her first day as a receptionist, judging by the new suit, too many papers, and frazzled yet desperately professional-looking gait.<p>

The café was shockingly busy for 5 o'clock in the morning, all of about eight people were sitting at the counter or little booths. Every single person there had a story, and one that was far too easy to read. This woman didn't get much sleep, just getting over a broken heart. She probably spent the night watching something like _Titanic_ going by the red puffiness of her eyes.

This man had decided to get up early, attempting to find a true blue-collar job instead of spending the rest of his days in a homeless shelter. The suit he owned was nice and kept in decent condition, but the knees and elbows were worn almost to tearing, but the man carried himself with confidence most homeless people weren't accustomed to. Former business man, then, probably lost his job due to budget cuts. The economy affected every class.

_Everyone's so transparent_, thought the detective just as his eye caught someone just slightly more interesting than the others. Male, early-to-mid-twenties, head down and hands shoved into his coat. He walked up to the counter raising his head for a moment to order before glancing back down. Obviously not out for work or to meet anyone. Not a smoker or avid drinker. He looked very downcast, as if he'd given up hope. Sherlock's eyes followed the man as he took a table pointedly far from the detective in the far corner of the diner. He looked up for a moment. Sherlock raised his eyebrows minutely; there was a glint in the man's eyes. He does something dangerous for a living, then. Not usually surrounded by strangers-he avoids the eyes of everyone here, including the waitress trying to flirt with him.  
><em>Mistrusting,<em> Sherlock deduced. _He's lost someone._  
>He continued to watch the strange man for a few moments longer. The man, finished with his tea-obviously black, the man liked things as plain as possible when it came to his food and drink-stood up and strode purposefully toward Sherlock. A small smirk danced across Sherlock's face; the man was more observant than most ordinary people. Then again, he hardly seemed normal.<br>"Oi, mate, if you want to stare at someone, you might want to try to make it less obvious."  
>Sherlock rolled his eyes and flicked his hand. "It hardly matters. What's done is done.<br>"Now," he looked up, "what's your story? I do love stories."

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><p>AN: Ok, so... we has earned reviews? Por favooooooooooooor?

BAngel: S'il vous ?

*hands homemade virtual cookies out to all future reviewers*


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Hi all! sorry it's been so long! We've been busy... Well, kind of... And distracted. Very distracted. Sorry again. This is a bit of a short filler, but it's necessary. Enjoy!

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><p>"Oi, mate! What's your problem?"<p>

"I'm _bored_." Sherlock rolled his eyes like it was the most obvious reason in the world.

He leant forward and steepled his fingers.

"Hmm... Recent divorce-oh! No, breakup-"

"How the hell do you know that?"

"The ring beneath your shirt." he said simply.

"Yeah, what about it?"

"It's not a wedding ring, you have no such marks on your fingers to show you were married. More of a promise ring then. It appears thin and slightly ornate, suggesting that it's a feminine design, and the fact that you don't wear it openly points to the conclusion that you find the matter quite personal. She left you recently. And your eyes are red and shadowed, crying and lack of sleep, most likely causes. You keep glancing over your shoulder—" Mickey turned back sheepishly. "—waiting for her to come back? Odd that she would be appearing in the middle of a cafe."

Something flashed behind Mickey's eyes, but he attempted to laugh it off. "You're out of your bloody mind!"

Sherlock leant back in his chair and took a sip of his coffee. "mm... No. But you are."

Sherlock should have expected to get punched for that one.

He gingerly rubbed his jaw. "Now, that was completely uncalled for."

"Why do you care? I don't even know you, and you seem to know... Everything."

"It's what I do. I observe, and I draw conclusions. I can see a result and deduce what caused it."

"And why do you do that, then?"

"Because I, as stated before you so rudely hit me, am _bored_."

Mickey raised his eyebrows. "Boredom usually doesn't equal analyzing a stranger's life."

Sherlock laughed drily. "For me, it does. Strangers can be interesting, if only for, say, a chat in a cafe."

"Well, why are you so bored?"

"Because there's no case on, Mrs. Hudson took away my gun, and John hid my cigarettes!"

Mickey opened his mouth, thought better of whatever was going to come out of it, and took a sip of coffee instead. Sherlock sighed

"No, I'm not some sort of psychopath, and I'm not an escapee from Bedlam."

"What makes you think that's anywhere near what I was going to say?"

"Wasn't it?"

Pause.

"Well that's not really the point..."

"Either way, it was quite obvious by your nervousness, suddenly shifty eyes and slightly increased heart rate. Simple."

Mickey opened his mouth, closed it, and frowned, reasoning out what the strange man before him had just said. Sherlock smirked.

"You see it?"

"Yeah... When you say it, it makes a load of sense..."

"That's rather the point."

That moment, Sherlock's mobile went off. He swiped the screen and held it to his ear for a moment. He let out a bit of a sigh and said, "John and I will be there in 10."

He looked at Mickey, who shot him a quizzical look. Sherlock's face broke into a smile. "The game is afoot. Thank you for staving off my boredom."

With that, he sprinted out the door and around the corner. After a moment, Mickey heard a door slam, shouting, and the man racing upstairs.

Mickey stared across the table for a while at the man's abandoned coffee before muttering to himself "nutter" and going back to quietly thinking about Rose and the Doctor and the living mannequins and the big, little, blue box.

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><p>AN: Review! :D That is all


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